


Hot Tonight

by miabicicletta



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Summer times means sexy times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-12 02:32:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7081168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miabicicletta/pseuds/miabicicletta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's hot tonight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hot Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> Bit rusty at this, but hope it, well, satisfies. Written on account of the unseasonable "heat wave" in my part of GMT. Title comes from the delightfully trashy pop song ["Hot Tonight"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rIdfhROd7L8) by Tokyo Police Club.

Molly Hooper pushed through the door, feeling rank with layers of sweat and dirt and hospital dreck. Blocks away, the swampy Tube air still clung to her, foul and heavy, leaving her sticky and over heated. She was filthy and damp. She was tired and sore. 

Her flat, at least, was old. The brick and mortar made for a small, self-contained respite from the urban heat island haunting Central London. Though it was after 22:00, it was still not dark and much of the heat still clung to the pavement. But inside the foyer, the still air hit her in rush of musty, Victorian coolness. She breathed a full breath. The first part of relief.

In the shower, the cool rinse of water was _the best_. Pouring fresh, bright citrusy gel into her hands, she rinsed away the transit tack of the Underground. The grime slipped away down the drain, and after she pulled on a pair of light pyjamas, poured fresh water for Toby, towel dryed her hair.

The flat was shadows but for the bedroom light. 

She kneeled beside him, brushing out her damp hair. Sherlock Holmes peered up at her, eyes glittering over his Kindle. “Bad day, was it?” 

She slipped the towel from her hair. “It was hot.” 

“Was it?”

She rolled her eyes. He’d arrived in the early morning and promptly passed out. A long case over six days prior, sniffing out corruption in Brussels on bequest of one of his mother’s friends. He never could say no to _seine Mutter_. Or his Mummy. 

She flicked a smattering of water droplets across his bare chest. “Wicked.” 

“Mm.” He curled a finger beneath the hem of her tank. Then lifted. Molly suppressed a smile. With deliberate slowness, she leaned over him. Watched his face. Faint crinkling at the eyes. Pupils dilated. Oh, well, then. Straddling his thighs, she let her damp hair trail down across his chest. Molly raised her eyebrows, raked her nails gently across his collar. “Hi.”

“Hello.” Playful. Odd, for him. 

“Hmm,” she sighs. “How was your day?”

“Unconscious. Therefore: boring.” 

She scrunched her nose in mock disapproval. “Criminal.” She spread her hands against his pectoralis.

“If only.”

Molly rocked against the length of him, hot, harder than she realized. 

“However-” He leaned up, took her hips in his large, large hands. “Not bored now.” He mouthed a drop of water from her drying hair off her collar, her neck, below her ear. “You’re still...wet.”

His breath was warm and humid on her neck, infinitely more more welcome than the clammy press of the Hammersmith & City. Goosebumps shivered along her skin as he licked the length of her clavicle. 

“Yes.” Her head fell back, neck arched at the feeling. His mouth skimmed her skin of her throat with lipsteethtongue _Oh!_ Molly sighed into a smile. He nipped gently, sweetly, then _not sweetly_. By the curl of his lips, he was pleased to feel her tense in reaction. 

One side of her mouth lifted. Her eyes closed. The git. With her tank top gone, he kissed and touched; he palmed and moved, guiding her down against the sheets. She slid her shorts down her legs, pausing to appreciate the view he afforded. Oh, it was good coming home to a naked Sherlock Holmes. Even more so to find him this giddy, a mood not so rare as she might once have expected, before. 

Molly laid back, letting him take lead, hands on either side of her head. She slipped her arms around his shoulders feeling, kissing, savoring. Mmm, the man did have the most lovely trapezius. He dragged his mouth down between her breasts, palming one in his hand. She ran her fingers through his hair as he pressed his mouth beside her navel. Above her belly. Then below. 

She arched, sucked in a deep breath. 

He mouthed her cunt. Trailed his tongue along the crease of her thigh. Her face grew flush, her chest heaving as he teased her. Enough to dampen the sheets with a faint prickle of sweat and the water from her hasty shower. Bliss. 

She gasped, groaned. Guided his head, but needing more. She pulled him up by the scalp until he was settled above her hot and heaving, his cock heavy against her thighs. He was hard and ready. She was slick and wanting. 

“Oh,” Molly sighed, wrapped her legs around his hips as he pushed into her. “Sherlock,” she sighed, relieved and not at all. 

His mouth found her. He held her close, so close. Her fingers wound in his hair. He gripped her hip, pressed his forehead to hers as he moved. It was so good; better than she ever could have imagined. Fantasy was all well and good, but happiness lived in the imperfect, normal moments. Even after a brutal day and a worse commute (well, as normal as they would ever be.)

At this, she laughed. 

He bit her earlobe, but nicely. “Ohhh,” he choked. 

“What?”

“You laugh. Abdominal contractions,” he groaned against her shoulder. The way he said it— _abdominal contractions_ —only made her giggle more. _Science-y_ to the end, the perfect fool. 

He shifted his hips sharply. “Feels _interesting_.” 

She beamed, on the edge of orgasm, in the whole of joy. Bit her lip. So much. _So much._

So, so, so, _sosososo…_

She clutched at his shoulder, breathed in the tobacco and sweat scent of him. “Sherlock!” 

Shudder and gasp and mouth tongue hands and oh oh _OH_ release. 

His grip loosened. Went limp and lazy. 

Molly ran her fingers along and over the damp processes of his spine. 

They lay together. Breathing. 

He nosed her shoulder. Traced the curve of her hip. Sighed into her hair. For someone who’d taken it nearly as a personal offense when sentiment was involved, he was surprisingly affectionate after sex. 

“Good night?” she teased, after she'd gathered her wits.

“Mmm,” he answered to her neck. “Hot tonight.” 

She nipped his shoulder. “You’re hot every night.” 

“ _Molly_.” Sherlock gave a long suffering sigh. But he pulled her close and kissed her brow all the same.

**Author's Note:**

> More fandom and shippy garbage available at [miabicicletta.tumblr.com](http://miabicicletta.tumblr.com/). Kudos loved, comments adored.


End file.
